


On Thin Ice

by hoodedwordsmith



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Banquet, Romance, VictUuri, banquet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoodedwordsmith/pseuds/hoodedwordsmith
Summary: Victor was a child prodigy. Raised by figure skating legends as parents, it only seemed natural for him to take center stage in the rink. High expectations were asked of him and he faultlessly delivered. He had friends from all over the world, wealth and fame. Everything was perfect. Perfect enough to have never known failure, heartbreak, and loss. This supposedly 'whole' life was the very reason why he felt empty.Until he met him.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The rink was empty except for a silver-haired boy standing at the center. Still in his competition costume, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He felt the all too-familiar cold that surrounded him ever since he learned how to walk. He knew how to skate before he even knew how to run. He knew how to twist and turn in the air before he could read and write. Skating was drilled into his soul before he decided if he liked it or not. He had not known a life without ice.

With his vision still concealed, he started glide simply across the ice. He heard the screaming of the adoring fans from all parts of the world. Strangers who he do not even know the names of, chant his name like a mantra. Music plays as he dances along with each note, defying gravity with every leap and jump. 

A smile unknowingly formed on his face. He loved ice-skating. The adrenaline that pumps through his veins, the excitement and thrill from every lutz had always been worth the countless hours of training. The freedom he feels when he's on ice was always worth the bruises, scratches and wounds he obtains while perfecting an axel. Ironically, he felt the most free when there were thousands of pairs of eyes on him, scrutinizing every moment. Because this was the life of Victor Nikiforov. 

His fate had already been written for him.  _The figure skating, world champion, Victor Nikiforov_. It was a story complete with an epilogue. The ending was always the same. It had always been him standing on top of the podium, a gold medal at hand while dozens of flashing lights take photos of him. A repeated pattern of the same story, over and over again.

The boy stopped. He opened his eyes and found the comforting hue of white beneath him. The ice provided him the template to write his own story with. Everytime he performs, a clean slate is offered right in front of him. And then he gets to paint with every color of the spectrum with his grace of movement. 

And yet, tears roll down the sides of his cheeks. _He had not known a life without ice._

"Vitya!" A stern voice had called him. His dreamlike escapade had abruptly stopped. Once again, he was aware that he was alone in the rink with an older man waiting for him.

 _A life without ice_.

The boy repeated the phrase in his head as he glided towards the entrance to where the man was. He shuddered at the thought. The idea was horrible. He could not live without it just as an artist is lost without his brush.

The old man handed him his skate guards as he instinctively reached for them. Like a mechanical clock, he made his way to the nearest bench and fit the guards snuggly on his blades.  _A repetitive pattern_.

Despite the redundancy, the boy decided, that it was better to have familiarity rather than contingency. But little did the naive young boy know that he had not known what life was at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Victuuri trash and hence, this fic was born.


	2. Night of the Banquet

**Night of the Banquet**

It was the epitome of elegance, poise and dignity. Every year, the Banquet for the world's top skaters have a rather flamboyant way of celebrating after a strenuous season of relentless training. Dressed in formal wear, both seasoned veterans and lucky technicals party the night away... So long as 'party' was restricted to posh laughing and back-handedly complimenting other skaters for their work. 

Nobody said the Banquet had to be this way. There were no rules. It was meant for social graces and yet no one dared to stray away from the stiff greetings and the subsequent handshakes that came right after. 

Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Waiters serving champagne roamed the room, offering an unlimited amount to their guests. The room sparkled with diamonds and pearls as gold walls encompassed the room. A long table of smoked trout, bourbons and other fancy cocktail foods presented themselves for the skaters to feast upon. It was all too familiar.

Victor grinned widely once again for the person shaking his hand. He had blanked out on his name and it was awkward now to ask him again what it was. He didn't mean to be rude by zoning out on the pleasant man but he was starting to feel tired of this.  _This_ is what he has been doing the moment he first stepped on ice.

 _He was born with a gift_ , is what he would often hear during his childhood. As his parents were figure skating legends themselves, it was deemed normal for them to engrave the world of ice into his mind. It was normal for them to send a four year old child to one of the world's best coaches for him to train fifteen hours a day. It was normal for him to have a life illuminated only by a glaring spotlight and flashing cameras.

It was normal.

"... _Dasvidaniya_ , Victor. I'm afraid I have more photos to take!" The man in front of him said in an attempt to speak Russian. He laughed heartily as he veered away. Victor mimicked his expression, feeling a bit guilty that he had not listened at all to anything he said.

It was not even a minute long until he heard his name uttered again. "Viktor." 

Exhaling once, Victor turned with a grin already on his face. The caller turned out to be quite shorter than he expected. It was Yuri Plisetsky, the fourteen year old boy, to which the media nicknamed as the 'next big thing' after Victor.

"Oh, it's you." Victor slowly wiped the gleaming face of pleasantry he had worn prior to realizing it was just Yuri. There was something about this kid that reminded him of himself, deducting the fact that he's a complete and utter asshole. He saw through his high-tempered facade and it reflected the loneliness that he felt inside him. Perhaps it was the price to pay to stand where they stood. Victor shook the thought off. What right does he have to complain. He's got everything in the world. What could he possibly be lonely about?

Yuri snorted. "Yakov said he needs you to sign some contracts later."

"That all?" Victor prompted. He knew Yuri enough to know that he wasn't the type you could ask to deliver messages. Yakov certainly did not ask him to do that. He would have scowled and hissed like a brat before you got him to do anything besides ice-skating. He knew the kid was still feeling a bit out of place in this vast room of strangers. Victor was the only one Yuri ever spoke to in these kinds of events. When asked why, he always said he was the only Russian who he can tolerate. But being older than he was, Victor could obviously tell that he was the only friend he ever had.

Victor liked to gloat on that thought at times.

" _Mudak_." The kid swore. Sometimes, Victor never got over his words of profanity. But there are other times when he just found them endearing. "Have you made up your mind yet?"

Victor smiled. There's the question everyone kept asking him.  _What's he going to do next? What's the next big move?_ Everyone had questions but it's as if they already know the answer. 

Dodging the question, Victor placed an arm around Yuri. "Hey, lay off the alcohol alright? You're still a minor despite your complete lack of respect to your seniors." 

"Stop lecturing me, old geezer." Yuri spat before shaking off Victor. "You're starting to sound just like Yakov." With that, Yuri walked away.

Discretely, Victor glanced at his phone to check the time. It read 11:02. It was still early by events' standards. A sigh escaped from him once again. Perhaps he could do some small talk with some of the skaters he recognized from the Finals.

There was Chris Giacometti, to which he already dismissed due to his popularity with the women and occasionally, men. Victor should be swarmed by his fans as well, it was odd that he was even vacant at the moment. Nonetheless, he enjoyed the few minutes of private thoughts before he got surrounded again. It wasn't as if he didn't like the attention. He did for the most part. But like any redundant activity, he grows tired of the same old routine. He does make sure that they never catch him on a bad mood. It was a gesture Victor understood quite well. The idea of being idolized. He was very much used to it that he had devised a way how to make them scream and adore him even more. A few winks, a few waves, little kisses here and there. It's not so much to manipulate them but rather to motivate. He knew how to work around the pedestal people have placed him on. 

Victor knew how to carry his name.

At the corner of his eye, he saw JJ Leroy, another narcissistic player on the field. He was with his girlfriend, Isabella, showing off how in love they were to everyone who dared approach them. 

It was a familiar scene, he knew most of the people in the room. He had spent hours both on and off rink with these people and yet their presence still felt... _foreign_.

Or in hindsight, maybe he was thinking too much. He was so accustomed to training and skating all hours of the day that having a day off did not really bode him well. Perhaps he needed a drink. 

As he approached the long table where tall glasses of champagne were supposedly arranged carefully for the guests. Except, they were all empty. 

"Excuse me, are there no more drinks?" Victor asked a waiter who seemed a little bit too flustered.

"Apologies, sir. I'll get back to you with a drink of your choice?" He replied hastily, obviously stressed out.

"Just plain champagne, thanks." 

"Of course, sir." The man scurried away with his metal tray, losing composure. 

 _That was odd,_ Victor thought. He sat on the edge of the cleared part of the table, waiting for the server to return. That was when a commotion transpired.

From the same table, Chris Giacometti's voice mocked. "Hey, buddy. You should probably lay off on the alcohol. I don't think you can handle--" 

"Eh? Are you challenging me Christophe Giacometti?" An all too-intoxicated man replied back. The scene caught Victor's attention. Apparently, it caught everyone's attention. All eyes were on the pair who seemed to have a little bit of a small confrontation.

He knew him. He was one of the six finalists. His performance wasn't really worth remembering if he were to base it on his own standards. It was sloppy and all over the place. But by the faintest hint, he could see why he was one of the contenders. He had the heart of a skater but not the strength. He was one of Celestino's students. A newcomer from Japan.

"Katsuki Yuuri? If I'm not mistaken?" Chris asked in an amused tone. 

"Yes, yes!" The dark haired man replied with a slight accent. " _Gratulation_ , Chris!" He said in bad German. This got him a few laughs from the room, including the Swiss himself. Others just suffered from second hand embarrassment.

"Tch, he's that loser that placed last, isn't he?" Yuri Plisetsky interceded their exchange by characteristically insulting the Japanese man.

Suddenly, Yuuri's mood had shifted. He loosened up his tie and walked to where the Russian brat was. He stooped down on his level and whispered in his ear. 

"How about I show you who the real loser is?" And in the loudest voice he could muster, he declared. "DANCE OFF!"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we need more of this scene. Also, I have no idea whether to keep this fic T or M rated.


End file.
